


morning rituals

by jasondont (minigami)



Series: ontography [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Domesticity, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minigami/pseuds/jasondont
Summary: Of breakfasts, curses and Saturday mornings.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: ontography [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105274
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	morning rituals

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so fucking proud of this thing's title, guys

When he gets home from his run, the sun is just beginning to peek over the roof. Cody breathes the cold early morning air in and stretches on the steps to his door, his sweat slowly cooling. He sees the old lady with the poodle and greets her, as always, with a nod of his head—like always as well, the woman acts as if he had not seen him, but the dog begins wagging their tail and tries to approach him, to the woman’s annoyance.

By the time the garbage truck comes rattling around the corner on its way to the bins further down the street, he is beginning to really feel the cold; he unlocks his building’s front door and steps into the old-fashioned foyer.

The place always smells of dust and damp, but today the stink is stronger. Cody sneezes once, twice, and then begins climbing up the stairs with a last annoyed look at the lift. It’s been broken for a week already, and he always laughs at Obi-Wan when he complains, but his legs and his hungry stomach do not find it that funny at the moment.

The building was built some time in the forties, and it shows—the ceiling is absurdly tall, and it always feels cool and damp inside, even during the height of the summer. The white walls are stained and cracked, the paint bubbling where they connect to the floor, and when Cody leans on one of them to try and scratch at that place where his right sock has been bunching up, his long-sleeved black shirt ends up full of white specks.

Obi-Wan finds it quaint, even if he won’t ever admit it out loud—he likes old things, it’s one of the first things Cody learned about him, which may have to do something with the fact that his home is a rattling firetrap of a house with more rooms than any sane person would ever want or need and barely functioning electricity and running water.

Cody has not yet managed to learn how the hell he got the wifi installed, and by now he is beginning to think that he’d rather never know.

His apartment is on the third floor, and by now he is used to climbing the three flights of stairs—he is even used to doing that in the dark. The lamps in the landings were changed some time in the eighties or late seventies, and the bulbs go on the fritz every couple months or so. Cody gets to his floor, unlocks his door, and then slips through his threshold trying not to open the door too much.

Mister doesn’t appear, which is unusual, but Cody shrugs it off and takes off his shoes. The apartment is cold, and he pads on silent feet down the hallway, wincing every time his feet touch the floor. When he gets to his bedroom, he finds Obi-WAn still asleep. There is a small, round, furry shape curled on the other pillow. Cody pokes his head in; Mister blinks at him and then turns away.

“ _Rude_ ,” he mutters. obi-Wan twitches on the bed, but doesn’t wake up. As always, he’s begun to occupy Cody’s half of the bed, his long legs starfishing under the blankets. Cody snorts, grabs a change of clothes, and then turns away before he does something stupid, like wake him up or have A Feeling out loud.

There is a weird noise coming from somewhere deeper into the house. Cody shrugs it off—its an old house. It creaks and groans and complains, and the trees out front are planted way too close to the building’s face.

Cody steps into the bathroom to shower and change. When he switches on the light switch, however, the bulb explodes, and the little room is immediately flooded with darkness, the tiny window built over the shower head too small to actually help illuminate the shadows inside.

He curses under his breath. He exits the room, closes the door behind him, and decides to leave that particular mess for later—he ends up changing in the freezing hallway. He’ll have to remember to warn Obi-Wan about the glass—and make sure the cat doesn’t go wandering inside until he’s had time to sweep the floor.

When he enters the kitchen, there is a knife spinning on its own in the sink, tip facing upwards.

Cody pauses, empty glass in one hand and the other resting on the handle. He sighs. The knife spins faster, its sharp edge reflecting the murky grey light that comes through the lonely kitchen window.

He sees movement from the corner of his eye, and turns his head. Mister is right on the other side of the door, watching him with big yellow eyes full of hurt. His usually sleek tail looks like a racoon’s.

“This is not my fault, don’t look at me like that,” Cody tells him. The cat meows. Cody sighs again, sets the still empty glass next to the sink, and rubs his face.

“Obi-Wan!” he calls him. There is no answer. Cody approaches the kitchen door, pokes his head over the threshold. His coward of a cat jumps and runs away, disappearing back into the bedroom. “Kenobi!”

A few seconds later, he hears a groan come from the bedroom, the rustling of bedsheets, the creak of the old mattress. Behind him, the knife keeps spinning—by now, Cody can also hear a high-pitched whistling, and his head is beginning to hurt.

Obi-Wan appears in the hallway. He is still half-asleep, rumpled and scruffy. He pads towards Cody, blinking in the low light and rubbing at his face.

“What is going on?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep. He stops in front of the bathroom door.

“Don’t go in there yet, there is broken glass on the floor,” Cody tells him. Obi-Wan grimaces, turns back towards him.

“Why is there glass on the floor?” he asks. He blinks, tilts his head. “And what is that awful noise?”

He hugs himself and shivers. The idiot isn’t even wearing a shirt.

“Put on some clothes before you catch pneumonia and come take a look at this,” Cody tells him.

“You like it when I don’t wear any clothes,” Obi-Wan says. “Wait. A look at what. What _is_ that noise.”

“Clothes first, _please_ ,” Cody repeats. Obi-Wan ignores him, because of course he does, and he sighs, lets him pass when he tries to cross to the kitchen.

Obi-Wan approaches the sink, sees the spinning knife, and he freezes.

It lasts barely a second—then his hands turn into fists, and he scowls, and Cody has never seen him truly angry but he’d say this is it.

“May I have some salt, if you’d be so kind?” he asks, always polite, his eyes still on the knife. Cody crosses the kitchen, grabs the jar from next to the stove and passes it to him. He watches while he tips the whole thing on top of the knife, and sees how it stops spinning, how it clatters and falls to the bottom of the sink, looking perfectly normal once again.

He can still hear the whistling noise though—whatever is going on, it’s not yet over.

“Don’t touch it,” Obi-Wan says. He is still scowling, and it should look ridiculous with his bedhead and his ratty pajama bottoms but it’s really not.

“I know, I’m not an idiot, I can hear it yet,” Cody answers. Obi-Wan snorts, and turns to look at him, suddenly rueful.

“Sorry,” he says, a half-smile on his face. He won’t quite meet Cody’s eyes. “This is my fault.”

Cody rolls his eyes.

“Good morning,” he replies. He crosses the kitchen and gets his right hand on the hair at the back of his head, soft and still warm with sleep, and kisses him, morning breath and all.

It’s like pulling on a switch—Obi-Wan melts, the tension disappears, the steel and the guilt and the fury all tucked away. When he cradles Cody’s face, his hands are cold.

“Good morning,” he says against his lips, beard soft against his chin. He rests his forehead against Cody’s for a beat, and then sighs, attempts to move away, and tries and fails not to smile when Cody won’t let him, his hand now curled around the back of his nec. He shivers again. “I need to go take care of this.”

Cody rubs his free hand on his bare arm, the tips of his fingers dancing over old scars and freckles and that awful tattoo he got when he was old enough to know better.

“Okay,” he answers. He knocks his head against Obi-Wan’s. “I’m going with you.”

*

Whoever cursed—or tried to curse—Cody’s home and by extension him as well lives on the other side of the city, in a perfectly normal neighbourhood. They eat breakfast in a café nearby, Obi-Wan frowning absently now and then either at his phone or the knife, kept in a black garbage bag full of salt and tucked under his chair.

Cody keeps looking at him, but the man doesn’t look too worried. Mostly annoyed and disgruntled, like a cat who’s found his afternoon nap disturbed.

After he finishes his tea, he checks his watch and stands up.

“Wait here,” he tells Cody. He is wearing what Skywalker calls his fake professor clothes today, the sweater and the old corduroy trousers and the long tweed coat. He looks good, because he always does, but the fact that Cody finds it hot anyway probably says more about him than about the man himself—and nothing good. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Cody stares at him over the rim of his coffee cup. He is still half-way through his second helping of pancakes.

“If you’re not back in an hour, I will call Skywalker and tell him to get you,” he tells him. Obi-Wan frowns, opens his mouth, but Cody doesn't’ let him interrupt. “None of us want that, so be careful, don’t be an idiot, and don’t make me call your dumbass of a brother, please.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

“Very well,” he says. He leans down to kiss him in the cheek, and then turns away and leaves with a dramatic twirl of the tails of his long coat.

It’s early enough the place is mostly empty—beside them, the only occupant is a middle-aged man that’s wearing a suit despite the fact that it’s Saturday and who has been nursing the same cup of coffee since they got there, and the teenage waitress, who is mostly focused on her phone on the other side of the bar.

The man, however, isn’t—he keeps glancing back at Cody from the corner of his eye, half-way between escandalized and obviously curious.

The next time he catches watching him, Cody smiles at him, perfectly polite. The man flushes.

“I’m his boytoy,” he tells him. The man chokes on nothing.

Cody turns back to his breakfast.

*

He is beginning to get worried when Obi-Wan returns. He looks—fine. He has what appears to be the beginnings of an impressive black eye, but otherwise he looks fine, and anyway. Cody doesn’t think he has to worry about the man when he looks so obviously smug.

“Everything went alright?” he asks anyway, just in case. He nods in the direction of Obi-Wan’s face, and begins to stand up. “Who gave you that?”

“Oh, this?” Obi-Wan touches his face. He shrugs. “Ventress punched me in the face. But it’s fine, I made her lift the curse and she agreed to leave you alone.”

Cody pauses with his coat half on. He turns to look at Obi-Wan.

“Why did she punch you?” he asks.

Obi-Wan shrugs, and Cody decides that he doesn’t actually care.

He holds out his hand; Obi-Wan rolls his eyes but slides his cold fingers between Cody’s anyway.

“Did you pay already?”

“No, I did not,” Cody lies. The waitress lifts her eyes from her phone, the beginnings of a frown on her face. “Yes, of course I did.”

Obi-Wan hums. He looks serious, almost solemn, but he is actually laughing at him, Cody can see it in his eyes. He tilts his head.

“Home?” he asks.

“Home,” answers Cody. He nods at the waitress—the girl doesn’t even twitch—and then begins tugging Obi-Wan towards the door.


End file.
